Weave Their Own Souls
by purple-pentapus
Summary: "You weren't supposed to - " He takes a shuddering breath, and his hold on her tightens until it's crushing. "You were supposed to stay you," he murmurs. Annie/Auggie. Tag to ep 3x04, set maybe a couple weeks after.


A?N: I just wanted someone to get mad that Annie's sleeping with Simon just to get information out of him (kindasorta). Just because James Bond does it all the time doesn't make it acceptable...

Also, for the purposes of "I don't feel like putting any effort into making this plot work with cannon," Annie didn't get into Simon's car at the end of "Speed of Life" or anything.

Disclaimer: Needless to say, I own nothing.

_They'll weave their own souls_

_Into the frame to grow their foliage in_

_ Crawlersout, Purity Ring_

"I need to talk to you, but I'm not allowed."

She's curled up in the corner of Auggie's couch, one foot trapped between the seat pillows. There's been a tear already - one, but she wiped it away even though it didn't matter because he can't see, and now it's somewhere in the tangled hair by her ear.

Auggie reaches for the television remote, and finds it on the second try. Sylvester Stallone's face freezes comically on screen, but Annie can't find it in her to laugh.

"Annie," says Auggie, his voice low. He sounds like he's cautioning her, but his eyes are concerned and devastatingly close to being locked on hers. She bites her lip, then sucks in a deep breath through her nose that feels raw in the back of her throat and hisses sharply.

"It's not..." she starts, and she wants to finish with _fair, _but doesn't think that it matters because nothing's fair, not really. "I don't even work for Lena anymore, and I still can't say - " A lump rises in her throat, and she drops her head back so it hits the back of the couch, joltingly.

Auggie's forehead's creased as he turns towards her, folding one leg in front of him and moving closer to her on the couch. She allows herself one second, two, breathes in the warmth of him before pressing herself further away, her foot between the pillows slipping out to hit the floor.

Like he's about to change his mind, he reaches for her. He lets his hand hang, and she holds her breath. The room is silent, even though they should all be screaming - Annie and Auggie and Sylvester Stallone.

"Come on, Annie," says Auggie at last. His hand falls back to his lap. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me," his tone is still slow, calming like it is when he's trying to diffuse the situation. "It'll never leave this room." And before she can offer up more protests, swiftly and with a small smile, "I'm the head of a department, anyways, so I should probably be allowed to know."

Annie breathes deeply.

And suddenly she doesn't want to go on with the conversation, because she doesn't want him to look at her differently, doesn't want to stop being the good-girl spy, or admit that she hasn't been the good-girl spy for a good long while.

"I slept with an asset." Vague, as if she can retain some sort of dignity.

Auggie's face changes abruptly, and she imagines she can _feel _him go stock-still, muscles contracting.

She feels like she has to keep talking, like she can keep his response at bay, "Lena sent me to Marrakesh to see what I could find out about a man named Simon Fisher, and he almost caught me with a sweep drive and I had to distract him, and..." she trails off, and he doesn't say anything, only keeps watching a point above her left shoulder like it's just done him a great personal wrong.

"Lena found out, and I figured she'd be angry but she's full of this feminist agenda, how if male operatives can sleep with their assets, then we can, too," the words are falling off her tongue, and she wants to plug the flow but can't for the life of her figure out how. "She sent me back in Munich, and then in Paris, and then Simon was here, in DC, and Lena thought I was blown so she pulled me out."

Auggie just sits. She notices that one of his hands is grasping his ankle, his grip white-knuckled. His hand shakes slightly.

She scrambles forward and snatches the remote off of the transparent coffee table, presses play. Stallone resumes his shouting match with some other nameless actor, and sound reverberates through the open apartment, loudly.

It takes a few rounds of the argument happening on-screen, but Auggie snaps out of his trance-like state, and stands abruptly from his seat. She watches his back while he leaves the room, treads quickly up the steps that lead to his bedroom.

Biting her lip harder, she shoves her foot back in between the couch cushions, just for the pressure. She watches Stallone start pounding on the man he's been arguing with without really seeing him. Her heart kicks painfully with every punch.

There's a loud crash from back in Auggie's bedroom.

Annie's on her feet before she decides to be, hurrying across the floor of the living area and up the short flight of stairs.

She's only been back here a few times before, but she knows for a fact that the contents of Auggie's walk-in closet aren't supposed to be strewn across the hall, along with their hangers and the bar that they _hang on_.

And Auggie isn't supposed to be standing with his fists braced against the wall so hard they're probably scraped to hell.

She goes up behind him quietly, careful to step around his discarded clothing. "Auggie," she says softly. He seems to slump, his eyes fluttering shut. The slant of his shoulders gets dejected, so resigned she just wants to slip her arms around him and tell him it's alright until it is. "I'm sorry, I just - I didn't know how to deal with any of this, and..."

She places her hand on his shoulder, lightly. A sharp intake of air, and his back muscles are taut again under her fingers. Annie retracts her touch a bit, doesn't pull away completely because she doesn't have time to -

He whirls, more collides with her than takes her up in his arms, and before she can so much as _think, _he's got his mouth on hers. It's rough and insistent and she can't keep up because her mind is still trying to catch up to the rest of her body, but she forces her arms up around his neck and just sort of _holds on_.

Her back's against the wall of the hallway, and her feet are off the ground, but she doesn't have enough room to hike them up around his waist. One of Auggie's hands is wrapped around the small of her back as far as it will go, the pad of his thumb brushing the skin of her stomach where her shirt's ridden up, and the other arm is pressed flush to her spine, fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck.

She does something and manages to get her tongue in his mouth, works it down and under his, languidly, until he moans rawly in the back of his throat.

He pulls back very deliberately, so that their faces are still touching.

"You weren't supposed to - " he tries to say. Annie interrupts him with a short kiss that doesn't fail to curl her toes, which are sort of pressed against the sides of his calves.

He takes a shuddering breath, and his hold on her tightens until it's crushing. "You were supposed to stay you," he murmurs.

Stallone's still yelling in the other room. There's the sound of a gunshot, and Annie's heart snaps. "I'm still me," she insists quietly.

He doesn't answer but to close the remaining distance between them.

A?N: They weren't supposed to make out, but apparently they have a mind of their own. Somehow I feel there won't be too many complaints :)

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